


Dreams That We're Telling Ourselves

by jaclynhyde



Category: Nier Gestalt | Nier
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unrealized pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:33:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22580290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaclynhyde/pseuds/jaclynhyde
Summary: For a long five years, only Nier and Weiss remained.
Relationships: Grimoire Weiss/Nier
Comments: 18
Kudos: 44
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Dreams That We're Telling Ourselves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aqualisier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aqualisier/gifts).



> Happy Chocolate Box, aqualisier! Thank you for letting me write about these two, and I hope you enjoy the fic! And many thanks to my wonderful beta vanishinghitchhiker!

**Autumn 3361**

As the unchanging sun streamed through the window, Weiss assessed the kitchen of a starkly quiet house. Behind him, Nier slept; above them, a bed they did not speak of lay newly empty.

For Nier to sleep in his own bed was a rare enough occurrence. For him to slumber late into the morning was almost unheard of—more so now that Yonah was gone, now that Nier worked and killed and searched for answers every moment he was awake. It was nearly midday, and Nier was likely to forgo a meal were one not forced upon him.

He’d seen Nier procure meals often enough. And what was a mere animal obligation to the great Grimoire Weiss? He need only apply heat to the ingredients in order to stave off illness; a simple task for as talented a tome as he.

Weiss eyed the foodstuffs—tomato, eggplant, and mutton—that Nier had gathered yesterday to sell. They could well afford to lose the income, what with Nier’s collection of Shade detritus rising to a fever pace. And what did Nier have to purchase, after all? Only one member of his household required sustenance, now, and keeping himself alive only seemed to distract him from his newfound purpose of killing Shades.

He might well waste away into a Shade himself, were there no one to look after him.

With a determined bob, Weiss conjured a miniature lance. Carefully, expending no more magic than would a magazine, he aimed at the tomato. There—do not charge, a mere knife would slice through one like butter—he released—

The tomato exploded against the wall.

Weiss quickly spun towards the bed—luckily, Nier slumbered still. _Damn_ his unimaginable power. He might well have slammed himself on the tomato for all the good that had done!

Well. Vegetables did not necessarily require slicing, of course. A stew hardly required a great culinary talent (not that Grimoire Weiss was incapable of becoming one had he not more important things to do!). It required only water, foodstuffs, and the application of heat, correct?

Creating a hand—a _gentle_ hand, using no more magic than a pamphlet—Weiss gingerly grasped an eggplant. There, there, a delicate lift, as if carrying a babe in his arms, into the pot—mmm. Well, that was more or less intact. He knew quite well Nier was less than picky.

That left the protein, essential to the upkeep of the man's bulging muscles. A roast over an open flame should suffice, no cutting required; a spear piercing from the ground would do nicely.

If he did not wish to splinter the table to bits, however…

With a heavy sigh, Weiss alighted next to the mutton. There was little dignity in cooking, he supposed. Cover pressed to the meat, he carefully nudged it towards the edge. As it tipped off the table, a dark spear shot up from the ground and skewered it. Perfect!

Now, he need only apply...heat…

Weiss surveyed the skewer, erupting out of the ground well away from the hearth. And the hearth itself, which did not at present house a roaring fire.

“What the hell?”

Weiss spun around; his concentration lost, the spear dissipated and sent the mutton to the ground with a wet splat. Nier was sitting up in bed, staring as if a magical grimoire cooking was an inherently ridiculous sight.

“Simply, ah, expanding my talents,” he said, feebly.

"You're cooking," Nier said, sleep leaving him more dull-witted than usual.

"That is what I just said, is it not?" He floated around Nier as he stood, and yes, he supposed the area did look a touch disastrous. "As you apparently require someone to feed you—"

Weiss stopped short, his thoughtless words catching up to him too late. Nier had indeed had someone to feed him; someone who gladly made meals whenever he was home, grasping for whatever moments she could spend with her father. And personable as he was, he was a poor substitute for Yonah.

Perhaps reminding him of what he'd lost had done more harm than good. Perhaps the mysteries of the human heart were one of the few things beyond his grasp—

"Looks like crap," Nier said, the corners of his mouth turning up into a smile he'd so rarely seen before. And then, swiftly, turning into a grimace as he looked into the pot. "What were you even trying to make? How were you gonna season it?"

" _Seasoning_! Pah!" All the effort he'd put in, and this was the gratitude he got? "Forgive me for attempting to keep your sorry mortal body alive! Perhaps you should provide for yourself if my efforts prove so unpalatable."

"Yeah," said Nier, and his voice sounded clearer than it had in weeks. "Guess I should."

* * *

**Spring 3362**

Hovering close to the ground, Weiss scanned for the telltale signs of a freshly-laid egg. Nier forbade him to touch the distressingly fragile things—how was he meant to finetune his magic without a delicate target, he asked—but he’d taken to reporting their location to his companion.

The earthy smell of the garden, of dirt and sweat and an overabundance of chickens, might have bothered an intellectual being made of paper such as himself. Yet somehow, familiarity bred a sort of contentment. Perhaps it was the contrast with his centuries spent in a dingy prison, lost though the memories may have been. In any case, he did not mind the peaceful times spent with Nier, chatting of seed packets and errands and Yonah’s eccentric recipes.

Their mornings in the garden were quieter, now.

And quieter even than that, today. Not even the sound of digging, of Nier’s footsteps, had interrupted Weiss’s thoughts in quite some minutes. Returning around the side of the house, he approached the garden plots. Ordinarily, Nier was energetic as could be while gardening, enthusiastically falling to his knees with his buttocks on display like a dog in heat. Now, he simply sat in the dirt, unfocused eyes staring through a row of moonflowers.

Weiss floated around him, finding no signs of injury. “Mmm? Have you forgotten how to harvest plants? Surely among all these scribbles you’ve left in my margins are a few hints—“

“What’s the point?” Nier asked, voice low.

Weiss stilled, at a loss. Perhaps he had misheard. “Pardon?”

“Growing flowers isn’t going to get Yonah back.” Nier sprang to his feet, seeds and watering can strewn on the ground like so much trash. “And every second I’m wasting my time here, I’m not finding her.” Retrieving the sword from his back, he stalked towards the gates of town.

“Nier,” Weiss said, alarmed. “Nier!” He sped ahead of him, mind racing. The man took risks in his anger, and more in his helplessness—it would do him no good at all to lose those scant moments of calm. “Come now, no need to waste those you’ve already planted, is there? Besides, you’ve still to eat this morning—“

Nier pushed him aside as easily as a loose stack of papers, continuing on. “And then what? Sell ‘em to someone else pretending everything's fine?”

“Now—stop that! You yourself have ceaselessly harped on the importance of caring for others in a world such as this. A simple flower could give another hope to continue on—“ He stopped short, a niggling memory just beyond conscious thought. Not one long forgotten, but one of relevance to their situation—he was little more than a mind, and what use was it if he could not _think_ of it—

Nier had not stopped, leaving Weiss to rush after him. “Anyone can grow a flower, Weiss. I’m the best there is at killing Shades, and that’s what keeps people alive.”

“You can hardly kill Shades every waking moment!” What was it, damn it—

Nier moved steadily onward, mouth set in an ugly line. “I can kill them now.”

“Do you wish to live like the hussy—“ And, with a rush, he remembered Kainé, Kainé’s abode, and where he had seen that flower before. “The garden—!” Weiss darted in front of Nier, the oaf’s movement slamming Weiss into his chest. “We must return!”

Nier stepped back with an annoyed growl. “Enough about the damn garden—“

With a huff, he rammed into Nier. “Cease your sulking and come look at this!” It took another slam for Nier to acquiesce to his request and turn around. Weiss floated behind Nier, nudging him towards the garden; once they arrived, Weiss bobbed down to a moonflower, red and resplendent. “Do you see?”

“Yeah, Weiss. I planted it.”

“The shape, you fool! What does it resemble?”

Nier knelt down, peering at the flower. “...a moonflower.”

“Think, man! Do you not remember the garland Kainé hung on her wall? Do you not remember the flowers that caught your eye?”

He could hear the breath the man took as he realized. “A Lunar Tear,” Nier said, fingers brushing reverently over a petal. “It looks like a Lunar Tear.”

Weiss spun triumphantly. “And what would make a better welcoming present for the hussy and Yonah, hmm?”

“Yeah,” Nier said, eyes locked to the flower. “...you’re right.” Dropping down on the ground, he picked up the seed packets—red, blue, and gold. “So how do we make it white?”

Weiss hummed. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“No.”

Well. Hmm. “You’ve gardeners who owe you favors, correct? One must specialize in cross-pollination or whatnot. Between my intellect and your gardening prowess, how difficult could it be?”

* * *

**Winter 3364**

With a shout, Nier swung a colossal sword at the Shades surrounding him, his movement as fluid and natural as a wave of magic from Weiss. It cut through them just as cleanly, with barely a regard for the armor they wore.

"The swarms are growing more insistent," Weiss said, easily picking off the Shades that had avoided the strike. "Quite irritating, are they not? Like mosquitoes."

Nier grunted, cutting down another without so much as asking what a mosquito was.

Absent a question, Weiss continued anyway. "Another relic of the past—blood-sucking pests swarming those who ventured outside. Not dissimilar to some of our clients, hmm?" Still no response, not even a defense of the townspeople Nier held in such incongruously high regard. "...I suspect none would mourn them, in any case." Weiss fell silent. There was only so much he could do to raise Nier's spirits when the man was in one of his sullen moods.

(Moods that came more often now than they had the year before, and the year before that; moods that only lifted when Nier had exhausted himself culling as many Shades as he was physically able.)

No matter. His spirits would lift when Yonah returned to him, and fewer Shades meant a clearer path to her.

Past the flurry of motion that was Nier, across the field, a much larger silhouette stood against the cloudy sky. "Nier. Are you up for a larger challenge?"

"I see it," Nier said, wiping off what little blood remained on his sword. "Let's go."

A monstrous creature, deadly to most—and yet it fell against their combined might, against the strategies they'd honed against thousands upon thousands of Shades. It near melted when faced with Nier's strength and stamina, Weiss's aim and power.

"Too simple!" Weiss exclaimed, fluttering his pages as Nier knelt to pick up a strange machine left behind. "Hardly a challenge at all, hm?"

"Yeah." Nier's breath was still heavy, turning into a pained gasp when he shifted his weight to the side. "Crap! Ankle's sore. Better pack it in."

He was communicating, at least, but hardly bantering as he normally did. Would there come the day when even these clear victories could not cheer him?

Weiss floated away, scanning the horizon for the boar. "Well then, time to call for a ride." Turning back towards Nier, he saw— " _Look out_!" The Shades behind Nier were small, small enough to not be a threat—had they been paying attention, had Nier not been injured and exhausted—

But no, his cry had warned him; Nier met the rush of Shades with a swing of his sword, and another, and another. As practiced, as always, he cut down each foe with ease, until only one remained.

Until his backwards step faltered—until the Shade stepped upon him and stabbed its claw into his face.

Weiss shouted his name —

Until Nier fell heavily onto the ground, as lifeless as any Shade they'd slain.

 _No_ —

The blood flowed freely, Shade and human alike, and Weiss vacuumed it all into the magic that hastily speared through the Shade. There was little of his usual finesse, nor even aim, only a spray of spears erupting everywhere but through Nier's fallen form. And as it fell (so simply, not a threat at all had Weiss only used his full power), Weiss darted over to Nier.

"Nier?" he asked, the tremor of phantom vocal cords breaking his voice. “Answer me, for gods' sake, now is no time to rest—“ But Nier lay still, blood flowing from his face, from his ruined eye. “Damn it—Nier, damn it—“ Running through his mind were not remedies, not solutions, but an absurd stream of expletives that would even shock the hussy. For his magic was not meant to heal, to help, but only to kill and kill again until those he lost were avenged—

_Help him already, dumbass!_

And with the shock of Kainé’s voice, imaginary though it was, Weiss returned from his reverie.

Nier lived still, breath moving his chest; the man was as strong as a boar. More than that, he could not die while Yonah yet lived. Of that much, Weiss was certain.

His mental faculties returned, Weiss assessed the situation. Firstly, he must stay the bleeding; secondly, he must bring him to the village for treatment. His eye may well be beyond saving, but that meant little compared to his life. Conjuring a lance, Weiss sliced off the end of the absurd sash tied to Nier’s waist to procure a bandage. With a magical hand small as a human’s, Weiss held the cloth firmly against his wound. The hand cupped against his face could not feel his temperature, could not assess how his bones had crushed and shifted, but it could keep him alive.

Now, to get him home— _damn_ it all, he was nearly out of magic. But the pool of blood under Nier's face...it would do him better in his body, but he could hardly pour it back in, now could he?

As Weiss absorbed Nier’s blood, felt it flow through his pages and out into a pair of enormous hands, he imagined he could feel the man’s strength within him as well. Carefully, Weiss picked him off the ground, shifting him into as comfortable a position as he could manage.

He still breathed. He still lived.

“Hang on,” he said, uncaring if Nier could not hear him. And so he flew, fast as he could without jostling the cargo held before him.

"Weiss?" Nier's voice was barely audible, forced through breathing harsh and pained, but it was there.

"Oh, now you deign speak?" And if his voice wavered from the exertion, neither mentioned it. "Be still, you reckless fool."

He might have perished. He might still, were his wounds more severe than Weiss could tell. The thought of being lonel—alone again, after these short years of companionship, was nigh unbearable.

But—it did not matter. Nier still lived.

* * *

**Summer 3365**

Weiss returned inside, calling upstairs to Nier. "It is safe to return downstairs—the aroma has improved, but I'll leave the scouring of the pot to your _capable_ hands." Floating close to the floor, he inspected the damage. "I've left it outside. I suggest you retrieve it soon before the scent unduly upsets the chickens."

Nier, Weiss could not help but notice, had not replied. Floating upstairs, he continued. "Don't think of putting it off—you've promised a meal to Popola, I remind you—"

Nier sat on Yonah's bed, pale blue ribbon small in his hands.

Weiss spoke, words tumbling out with no cause but to fill the dreadful silence. "I draw the line at lizard tails, this time, so forget looking for that recipe she told you of—"

"I always told Yonah to cook through the meat," Nier said, and Weiss immediately quieted. For as much as thoughts of her consumed Nier's every waking moment, he rarely spoke of the girl. "And every time, she burnt it to a crisp."

"I do not envy your sense of taste," Weiss said, hesitantly.

Nier looked up at him. "You'd better not let her hear you say that."

Weiss privately breathed a sigh of relief. "Scout's honor." He bobbed awkwardly, Nier's gaze returning to the ribbon. Bah, he was never one for such fraught conversations! Still, he could recognize that Nier wanted to speak of her. "Ah, how did you choose her name?"

"Her mother did, I think. Never knew what it meant...actually, I was hoping you would know."

"I am hardly a book of baby names!" Nevertheless, Nier looked at him expectantly. "I do not. The name is at least as old as I am, but I remember little else." He added, almost in apology, "She bears it well."

"Yeah," Nier said, carefully placing the ribbon on the nightstand. "She…she does." Swinging his legs onto the bed, Nier lay down fully and closed his eyes. Now, dwarfing the long-empty bed...he looked older, so much older than the five years that Weiss had watched him age through.

How long did humans live, these days? How long would one live who was so reckless, so determined to purge the world of danger with his own hands? How much less if he lost hope?

Weiss floated closer to him, at eye level. "I will tell her so when next I see her."

"You're her favorite book, you know," he said, eye unopened. "She calls you her magical storybook."

"Storybook?!" Pages ruffling in displeasure, Weiss swooped down over his face as Nier cracked an eye open. "Now this is all very touching, but to call the great Grimoire Weiss a mere children's storybook is akin to blasphemy!" And if he was playing up his indignation, it was worth it to see a genuine smile cross Nier's well-worn face.

"Uh-huh, Weissy."

He was certainly not playing it up now. "The _cheek_ of you—!" A heavy hand grabbed him, and Weiss let out a noise that was certainly not a squawk. "Unhand me, man!"

"You never complained before," Nier said, pulling Weiss to his chest like no more than a pillow—the utter gall of the man!

"Have you not been _listening_? I have complained every time you have _manhandled_ me—"

"You let me write in you," he said, simply.

Weiss fluttered against him. "Th-that has nothing to do with this! Your notes are in s-service of—" Nier's fingers were tracing his filigrees, and how was he meant to think in the face of such distraction?. "A vital pursuit—"

"Weiss," Nier said, hand brushing the curlicue over his eye. "Shut up. I'm trying to sleep."

He could feel every centimeter of cover touching the man's warm skin. Had he skin himself, a body that was more than metal and paper, he might very well feel his heartbeat against his back.

Had he a body of his own, their current position would scarcely be as innocent as it was.

Weiss could conjure up a hand, finally delicate enough to touch without injury; he could conjure up an entire body, at that. He might offer the touch that humans are said to crave, that Nier had not felt for five years at the least. He might take his hand in comfort, hold him in return, trace his tattoos as Nier did his filigrees—

He might.

Yet his phantom limbs stayed unrealized, for what comfort would a touch of blood and ink truly offer a living, breathing human? It would only pale next to the memory of his daughter, of his wife.

Even still, Nier held him: cold metal, unfeeling paper, and all. And with all his wisdom, the thousands of years trapped in his subconscious, he did not know why. Comfort, perhaps? He could not tell if his presence offered any; there were scant moments Weiss was not by his side for comparison.

Ah. Perhaps—perhaps that itself was the key.

"You mean to trap me here for the night? I do not sleep. Am I meant to amuse myself staring at the ceiling and reviewing your fishing records?" It would certainly be dull; he hardly stayed still on the bookshelf every night while Nier slept. And yet, the clumsy, callused fingers stroking his pages sent shivers down his spine.

"You sure love to hear yourself talk," Nier murmured, voice already slurring with sleep.

"Then it is convenient that you seem to feel the same."

Nier huffed a laugh. "Yeah. It is." And soon enough, the hand on him stilled and his breathing evened to the slow rhythm of sleep.

"Good night, Nier," Weiss said, well after it would not be heard. And he could think of nothing at all but the man pressed against him, one who would hold his dusty old pages against his heart.


End file.
